


Opening Scene

by Frances_Glass



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-20
Updated: 2015-05-20
Packaged: 2018-03-31 09:16:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3972448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frances_Glass/pseuds/Frances_Glass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His *employer* had eccentric tastes. In art, in women, in vision. But most of all, in him — his *assistant*. When he gets a text instead of a phone call (which he receives dozens of throughout the day), he knows what mood his employer was in. And in those moods, their dynamic shifts from employer and assistant to *Wilson* and *James*.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Opening Scene

**Author's Note:**

> First fic so go easy? Self-edited so all mistakes are my own. Thanks for reading and let me know what you think! Always open to (constructive) criticism (and praise if you so wish!)

His _employer_  had eccentric tastes. In art, in women, in vision. But most of all, in him — his _assistant_. When he gets a text instead of a phone call (which he receives dozens of throughout the day), he knows what mood his employer was in. And in those moods, their dynamic shifts from employer and assistant to _Wilson_  and _James_.

James arrives at the condo 20 minutes earlier than expected. He knows that Wilson won’t get there until the pre-arranged time. He draws himself a glass of water and drinks it quickly, not wanting to waste any time. The bedroom was the final destination.

He’s been here many times before, but each time it looks smaller and smaller. Almost suffocating, but in a pleasant way. The walls are a chilling grey and the large bed is covered in black silk. There’s a practical bedside table and a small desk at the far of the room. Minimalism is Wilson’s modus operandi. His eyes fall on _that_ painting hanging over the desk, within direct view of the bed. A physical chill ran up his spine.

James pulls up the black leather armchair from the corner of the room and puts it a meter from the foot of the bed, facing it of course. He moves around the room with practiced ease. But his quickened heartbeat still betrays his innermost thoughts.

Next, he commences the tedious process of disrobing himself. He always removes his tie first; this time, a midnight blue with thin red stripes. He hangs it up in Wilson’s closet, as he always does. He unbuttons his vest and shirt efficiently, hanging it on the same hanger as the tie (lest it get lost amongst the other items), followed by his suit jacket and pants. His socks and shoes are tucked underneath his hanging garments.

James pondered about his last item of clothing and when would be best to remove it. He looked at his watch and decided not to take risks. He drops his boxer briefs, folds them, and puts them on the desk behind him.

The trip to the ensuite is brief, as James always puts the supplies in the same place, with everything fully stocked on a tray, as if it were being brought as a meal (he being the one devoured).

Back in the bedroom, he lays the items down next to the chair. A perfunctory glance at his watch tells him he has 3 minutes to spare. James always showers at his own place before these _events_. He decides to make himself comfortable on the chair he’s so familiar with. He closes his eyes to clear his mind, to get into the role, so to speak.

James is very comfortable in his bespoke suits. It makes him feel safe and protected. To be completely and voluntarily bare for someone else — for Wilson — is something he still needs time (2 minutes now) to wrap his head around. He needs to stop the cogs in his head from spinning and just let happen.

His eye snaps open when he hears the door open and heavy steps enter. James had purposely left his glass on the kitchen counter to notify him that he was already there. His _employ_ — Wilson — liked punctuality. Patience was not his forte. A few deep breaths and he was ready, hearing Wilson’s footsteps pause briefly before crossing over. Begin scene.

James makes eye contact with Wilson, who can’t seem to look away, though his propriety and nervousness wants him to. He’s in his full black suit but starts removing his suit jacket before tossing it lazily on the bed. He sits on the side of the bed to remove his shoes and socks, the only other items of clothing he will discard. The pillows are propped so that Wilson can sit comfortably and view the scene before him. A brief nod of his head tells James to reach for the bottle of lube.

The snick is loud and almost echoes in the room. He pours an economical amount of lubrication in his right palm and, wasting no time, grips his sizeable cock firmly. The cold lube makes him inhale sharply. A quick noise across the room, echoing his pitch, reminds him that he has an audience. And how can he forget. The man who texted him today and so many times before that. The man he would gladly take a bullet for over and over again (even knowing full well he’s wearing a suit made of protective material).

The thought of giving his life for Wilson makes his blood pump faster. His slow strokes are very much teasing as he’s not doing this for himself. He glances up quickly at Wilson, who’s quietly undone his trousers, but is only stroking himself over his pants.

James ups the ante and reaches for his left nipple and twists it sharply. A soft moan escapes his lips and his right hand grips his full erection a little harder. Through half lidded eyes he looks across the room to Wilson, who has mirrored his ministrations with his own hefty erection.

James likes to leave his glasses on for these _events_ so that he can read Wilson’s face and body’s reactions. The light twitch of his lips when he’s trying to suppress a moan. His eyes looking to the left when he wants to slow down. James lets out a breathy moan as his hands speed up out of its own accord.

Wilson is breathing harder and harder and James can no longer stop his constant moans. He’s almost there when Wilson says, "Stop." James immediately stops his hands and puts them flat on his thighs, panting heavily. He looks up to await further instruction. Wilson takes a moment to breathe as well.

“You can only come from your fingers. Nothing else.”

James couldn’t stop the grunt that bubbled from within him. It sounds like punishment but he can only gleefully comply. Wilson’s random requests just makes this that much more interesting. He reaches for the lube again and coats all his fingers.

His breath hitches at the first breach. It slides in, knuckle after knuckle, easily so James insert another. From his periphery, he can see, no, _feel_ Wilson’s gaze on him—all of him. He slips in a third finger before actively looking for the end game.

His nail slowly grazes across it, making James’s back arch off the armchair obscenely, paired with an equally loud moan. His left hand grips the chair tightly, while his raging hard cock bobs gently to the motions of his right hand. Every touch is electric, and hearing Wilson pant audibly is bringing him closer and closer.

He looks up, with pleading in his eyes. He wasn’t told but knows that he can’t finish until Wilson gives him permission. Wilson’s eyes make contact with his, his hand working furiously. The swishing of his clothing is driving James wild, making the entire situation that much filthier. Knowing that Wilson could up and leave without any consequence while James lays stark naked in the middle of his room.

His hand is moving in and out, faster and faster, repeatedly grazing his soft spot, his moans breathier and his pitch higher, knowing that Wilson is close. He looks directly into Wilson’s eyes, biting his lip and moaning deeply. Wilson lets out a loud and lengthy grunt, his black clothing splattered in white, over and over again. White streaks on black canvass. It’s quite artistic.

James cannot stop shifting in the chair, arching and rubbing his sensitive body against it. His dignity long out the window as he moans and moans, muttering unintelligible words between the ' _fuck'_  and the ' _please'_. The man whose reputation is ingrained in his perfectly fitted suits is completely undone.

Wilson catches his breath and just watches James, who almost has tears in his eyes. James’s pleading eyes makes Wilson clear his throat before speaking.

“Beg.”

“Please, sir. Let me cum.”

“Not good enough.”

James groans and slows his hand down. “Please let me cum, sir, I’m so close. I’ll do whatever you want. You know I will. Everyday, sir. Just please let me cum. Please, _Wilson_.”

A sharp intake of breath and, “Come” is all James remembers before he sees stars behind his eyelids. He feels a tear stream down his face as he spurts what feels like endlessly across his chest. When his aching cock is relieved, James slumps deep into the armchair. His fingers slide out of himself loosely. His eyes are still closed but he can feel Wilson get off the bed and move towards him.

This is different. His employer always exits the room so James can put himself back together. He never stays. James opens his eyes weakly and looks up above his glasses. His employer’s face is unreadable and that confuses and worries him.

Hands slowly reach towards James’s face to remove his crooked glasses, followed by Wilson’s lips. James’s eyes immediately close and his body melts into the kiss. He’s too delighted to be shocked and lazily opens his mouth to let Wilson dominate him. He already does in every other aspect, and James is nothing if not a loyal soldier.

Wilson bites his lip (softly, given the context) before moving back to breathe. James moans at the loss. He’s delirious from his release and the breathtaking kiss. The latter of which is different. Good different.

James doesn’t know what to say as they stare at one another. Wilson looks past James to his beloved painting. He glances back down at James and the corner of his lips twitch. He’s smiling. Warmly.

Wilson leans down for another quick peck and James just stops breathing completely. “Let’s get you showered and into bed. We’ve got a long day tomorrow.”

James can’t help but grin back. “Yes, sir.”

When one scene ends, the next one begins.


End file.
